


Dog Lord

by Whuffie



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whuffie/pseuds/Whuffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the events of Dragon Age 2 take place and Cullen becomes Knight Captain, he has to prove himself.  Many of the established templars resent his rise in rank.  This fairly dark drabble focuses on an apostate hunt with Cullen and several Kirkwall templars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Lord

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of a writing challenge which I never finished due to personal reasons. The challenge is to take a random sentence from any book and use that as the first line of your story.

The Tangle Box by Terry Brooks pg 113

 **He could feel the presence of used magic in the air, but there was so much magic concentrated there anyway that it was impossible to decipher what these odd traces meant.** The tip of Cullen’s sword pointed downward, and nearly scraped the spongy, muddy turf of the Free Marches. “They can’t have gone far.” He could almost feel the discontent from the others. They never said anything outright, but he caught the furtive motion of eyes when they almost rolled or hard smirks which chipped the corners off their sneers. As a new transfer who was rising swiftly up through the ranks, Cullen knew they resented him. He’d come from Ferelden. Through his tenacity and an unrelenting ability to hunt apostates, he was on a quick rise to rank. What little authority he had gained came not from ignoring the defaming remarks but meeting them. Marwin was an inch taller than he was, but Cullen took a long step into him, invading personal space until he was almost nose to nose. “Do you have something helpful to say, Serrah?”

The gritted response clapped between Marwin’s teeth. “I said there was clearly some sort of ritual performed here, which should be obvious, Ser Cullen.” Using the backward Ferelden address was as close as he dared skirt at mocking the Doglord. None of them wanted to take the arrogant bastard’s orders, but Meredith kept putting him in charge over their excursions. Unfortunately, every time the lickspittle left, he came back with results, either dragging the quarry back in shackles or the heads as proof. Like some kind of souless golem, the high and mighty Doglord didn’t seem to care which one it was. His record spoke for itself, and the others were having trouble competing with it.

“Yes, it’s obvious.” Every one of Cullen’s words was measured under tight control, and he flexed his fingers along the hilt of his sword. The creak of his leather gloves was the only thing that broke the tense curtain of silence which followed for several heartbeats. He refused to let the heel of his boot move an inch as he bored his gaze straight into Marwin then Rolf’s eyes. “Now I expect you to do your duty as a Templar Hunter and track them.” They had a different set of skills than he did, and Cullen knew the real test the Knight-Commander had given him was that of leadership. She was a brilliant and he appreciated her wise ways of dealing with the mages of Kirkwall. Where Greagior had missed the danger, Meredith recognized and met it the way a real Commander should have. She was everything he admired in a leader, and served her almost as vigilantly as the Maker. It was her inspiration which made him work harder to protect the world from the mages. As one of the few who truly understood, he would have followed her to the Void for the good of mankind. She had put him in charge of the current expedition and he would once again meet his obligation to the Maker. He left no room for mistakes, and nothing to chance. That included having people who would not obey him when he was put in command. “The bloody alter tells us we’re dealing with malificar.” There would be no mercy, and he’d give them no opportunity to sneak into his mind, turning thoughts against him.

Locking their gazes for a moment more, he drove his point home before wheeling. “Marwin, you first. Rolf and Lisbeth, search for traces of where they’ve gone. There’s no sign they have horses, and we do.” He almost tacked the word “move” onto his command, but had no need to. They were reluctant, but obedient. Getting onto horseback was fluid and easy for Cullen, and he’d adjusted for the weight of his armor as soon as he was allowed to ride again. His mother had put him on the back of a horse almost before he’d learned to walk, and they’d been some of the rare people who had raised equines for farms and the Ferelden nobility before the Blight. It was another advantage which put him above the others, and he gladly added it to the physical abilities he could offer the Order. Knocking his heels lightly into the horse’s ribs, the animal gave a satisfying surge and he kept his seat as well as any Chevalier.

As a unit, they rode, and he didn’t allow them to fall out of their formations or slack until they’d gone half a league and found the trap the maleficar had set for them. They’d been cunning, and knew they were being pursued without hope of escape. The first attack was for the horses, laying out grease which he knew they’d try to set fire to. It was clumsy, and he didn’t trust there wasn’t more. Their real power would be through the blood and whatever other dark powers they had tapped in the ritual which the templars had found. “Dismount,” he shouted to the others as the soles of his boots hit the ground. “This is a distraction. Don’t waste your energy on it.” Taking a pinch of lyrium powder from the paper envelope in his belt and tucking it under his tongue, it immediately dissolved into his blood. It pulsed through him like the Maker’s divine will and light, giving him the strength and clarity to confront the demons vomited out of the earth. The ritual had animated and enslaved the dead, as well, using them as shields against the templars.

Magic flew in flames, ice, lightning, and worse as Cullen and his group hacked their way through the atrocities spat up for the mages. Almost oblivious to his own wounds, Cullen halted as much of their magic through cold willpower, the potency of his training, and unrelenting steel hewn its way through the maleficar. At the end, one of them begged for his life, swearing he was innocent, and pleaded to be returned to a Circle. Cullen slammed his shield into the mage’s face to interrupt any possible hidden spell casting, then removed the malificar’s head. With ruthless efficiency, he made certain nothing would walk away from the site unless they wore the Sword of Mercy on their chest.

Once the grisly work was done, he placed the tip of his blade against the ground and forced the others to kneel with him. He committed the souls of the dead to the Maker to their final judgement, then collected the heads for identification. His injuries were something he would only yield to once he was back in Kirkwall, in the privacy of his own quarters. They were all managable, if not superficial, and he would not look weak in front of the others.

He’d succeeded in holding his command, and drew a very small amount of satisfaction in a job which was well done. Kirkwall was safer for their actions, Maker be praised, and while he would be humble in his achievements, he could also appreciate it was his hand who had helped carry out the Maker’s will that day.


End file.
